


Vampires and Werewolves and Frankensteins Oh My

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [49]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Death, Gen, Murder, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 01:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: The vampire is petty, the werewolf is stubborn.The Frankenstein monster look alike just sort of showed up, and after that things got more complicated.





	1. Tooth Placement

**Author's Note:**

> More based off of the 2004 Van Helsing movie than anything else.

“For god’s sakes Higgsbury, stop that!”

The answering canine snarl was all he got, sharp claws dragging furrows down the tree trunk, shredding its bark, and Maxwell crouched on the branch he had scrambled up earlier and frowned at his current problem.

Which was a massive hairy beast growling and howling for his blood at the base of the tree, circling it with an eye glowing hot in the dark.

He swiped a tongue over his lips, still tasting the hints of blood, and raised a shaking hand to check his current injuries. His blood was thinner, he had to be careful of bleeding out, but already his skin was numbing out and prickling with sharp pains as it healed back together, flesh sewn with the magic of undeath. The clothing he wore, however, was a different story.

“Do you know how much this cost to get my hands on?” His hissing was answered with gurgled snarls, not at all sympathetic, and Maxwell frowned as he picked at what was left of his cloak and suit jacket. The pain in his side was fading, but his blood was drying over and staining the cloth, fur lined collar soaking crimson black, and it was a pain in the neck to scrub that sort of mess off. With how those claws had gouged a chunk out from him earlier, he wondered if the clothing was even salvageable or not. “Can you wrap your measly little beast mind around the concept that I will have to go out to replace this, or are you too damn simple to even understand that?”

His outburst of anger earned him a huffing growl, and then he was clinging to the tree as it shook, groaned as leaves fell and branches trembled, leaning far as it was shoved against. And then it snapped back into place, only to start creaking its way opposite, Maxwell digging his talons into the bark and trying to keep his footing. The blasted creature was still trying to get him out!

“This is utterly childish behavior Higgsbury, stop it at once!”

That seemed to make the beast more pissed off, and the tree shook back and forth as Maxwell was snarled at, the branch he was on shuddering threateningly.

“Fine! If you want to throw a fit so be it, I am not sticking around!”

It wasn’t his fault anyway! So what if a few ignorant campers were sleeping in this forest, it was on _his_ property, so by extension they were _his_! Maxwell had every right to them, especially if he was feeling a bit peckish, and the full moon did not, in fact, give Higgsbury any right to attack him for it!

Their damnable little deal held no bearing when the other man was a blood thirsty beast as well! Maxwell had assumed that he’d be hunting around himself for something gullible and stupid enough to be out past nightfall, but he hadn’t thought he’d be on the menu!

That wasn’t part of the deal, and Maxwell was having none of it. Not when he was this hungry, at the very least.

Just as the branch under him started to crack, tilt as gravity and the force of an angry monster did its work, Maxwell straightened up with only the slightest hisses of pain. Those few claw wounds shouldn’t leave a mark, but werewolf scars were harder to clean up and took some rest time.

Which Maxwell did not have.

With that, he shivered off the glamors and spread his wings, avoiding the other branches as he readied himself to jump and fly away from this mess of a night. He’ll just hunt somewhere else, and Higgsbury better not bring it up tomorrow or so help him Maxwell was going to shred that damn contract, no matter the consequences! As if the pot calling the kettle black was fair!

With one flap, wind shaped under his wings and his pounce upwards left him out into the open air, taking off into the night.

Or, that would have been what happened, had not a certain clever lycanthrope anticipated the escape and instead leapt up at the exact right moment as to flash fangs and claws over the membrane of vampiric wings.

Which earned a very high pitched shriek, floundered flapping as the werewolf hung on a moment longer, clawing holes and scars over bat wings, and then they both crashed into the ground.

The ensuing struggle didn’t take too long, canine snarls that easily shrugged off the hissing and talons that tried to claw at his face, the werewolves one good eye flaring a glow in the full moons light as he tossed the vampire around.

Beastal instinct aside, there was a certain sentient anger in him that had flared up earlier this night, at the sound of screams and cries that had risen from nearby campers. He had enough willpower to avoid them, stalk elsewhere as his mind swirled with the moons dizziness fighting his own natural insight, but that had broken the instant he had detected a familiar scent.

That one had taken his eye. That one had locked him into a contract that neither of them wished to stay in, that one had not given him the merciful death he had once begged for, and that one now pretended that he was enslaved to his vampiric services when it truly was the other way around.

Vampires avoided werewolves for a reason, and it wasn’t a petty one.

Smelling that acidic, dark blood, fangs digging into a thin arm and squeezing his one good eye shut at the hissing and flapping wings, Wilson was completely in his right mind when he finally pinned the nightmarish creature underneath him, claws on shoulders and teeth finally finding a way around a thin neck.

That silenced the both of them, panting canine breath, of blood and dirt and thick drool, tongue lolling against the creatures cold skin and feeling him swallow thickly at the ramifications, and his ears flicked as the vampires voice rose, thin and pitched high.

“Now, now wait just a second there, Higgsbury, don’t go doing anything you’ll regret-”

The vampires voice wheezed as he shifted his weight, putting more pressure over his chest, and his claws dug into the skin and bone of the creatures shoulders, cold blood sharp and acidic in his nose. The noise of a squeak, almost bat like in nature, was satisfying to hear as he squeezed his jaws, jagged teeth pricking tight to cold undead skin, and the vampire under him hissed a desperate noise, wiggled for a moment before stilling again.

“Now I’m sure you wouldn’t do that, r-right? You wouldn’t dare-”

A snarl from his throat, hackles rising up, and he could taste blood now, thin and bitter on his tongue, panting as the moon fog tried to dizzy its way into his stubborn mind. He tested himself for a moment, turned his head, felt the vampire tense up as he pulled, claws still heavy on thin shoulders, and the shuddery bone crack he heard was satisfying, especially coupled with the light hiccup of a hiss, clouded pain and desperation.

His meaning should be obvious; _don’t test me._

“Alright, alright, fine, it’s f-fine-” Another hiss, and Wilson seriously considered it for a moment, the blood in his mouth and the power he could feel in his limbs.

Life wouldn’t be so bad like this, right? But he’d never be able to complete his studies, his inventions and the allure of science…

With that he dropped the vampire from his jaws, tongue licking his lips and nose, a canine huff as he sat back all his weight atop the monsters spine, panting in satisfaction.

Maxwell, for his part, lay limply underneath the beasts heavy bulk, torn wings and injured arms and bleeding neck and all, hissing faintly in discomfort. Werewolf spit was not pleasant, and now all those bites and scratches stung like hell. 

With all his complaining earlier now his suit was utterly ruined, his cloak in ragged tatters. He may have some skill with needle and thread but, from what little he was feeling at the moment with _someone_ sitting on him, it may just be a lost cause.

The only good thing out of this, Maxwell thought miserably, was that at least he had a large wardrobe back at the castle. This wasn't his only suit, nor cloak.

The cloak was one of his favorites, however.

"Let's just...call it a truce, shall we?" 

The werewolf huffed, claws flexing and not even giving him a look, panting as the moon stayed high in its arc of the sky.

Mocking him; Maxwell glared at the dirt, knowing it was clear skies tonight, no cloud cover. Damn Higgsbury might just sit on him all night if given the opportunity.

And then Maxwell would have to drag his exhausted, naked human form back to the castle in the morning, dodging the sunlight as best as he could, which he very much was not looking forward to.

"See, since I've already taken care of those, ah, intruders earlier, now you don't have to go out and hunt around." 

There was a growl, above him, but Maxwell pushed on, digging his talons into the dirt with as little movement as possible.

"I'm sure they're still edible enough for you, even lacking a few litres of blood. In this state I know you have very little preference-"

The snarl was a bit much this time, massive claws curling as that weight shifted, pains in his spine making Maxwell wince, but it was enough of a distraction.

In one move he flared his wings, fast enough to surprise the wolf and tip his balance, and with that Maxwell scrambled out of dodge. Higgsbury's snarl was nearly murderous now, but the vampire was already standing and puffing up, spreading his rather sorry looking wings and baring his fangs, hissing at the one eyed glare leveled at him.

For a moment there was a standoff, werewolf and vampire unmoving, intimidating, as greasy hackles raised and spiny membranes rose, low hissing and guttural growls. For all the posturing, both knew who'd win if they got into another tussel.

Wilson bared his teeth, lips curled and ears laid back, and it was with satisfaction that he could still smell the acid of undead ichor. Those won't heal quick, and possibly not well either.

Maxwell was tense, glamors flashing as he hissed low, trying to subtly look more looming, claws more spread and fangs extended. To a mere human he was terrifying enough.

Unfortunate that everything else otherwise found him lacking. And, outside his castle and its darkness, he really did not have the power to back himself up.

Before either of them could make the first move, whether to pathetically flee or to make a rather violent point, there was a sudden cacophony of shouting out in the forest.

Both sets of long ears twitched, though Wilson was the only one to turn his head, narrow his one eye out to the darkness. There were flashes of light out there, torches, but not towards their general direction.

Angry voices, yelling men as they trampled through the brush and undergrowth, but not in a searching manner.

Wilson listened, focus completely removed now from whatever petty thing they had against each other. The people out there were _chasing_ something.

Maxwell had loosened up when that glare had turned away from him, still ready to beat a retreat at a moment's notice but knowing he wasn't being viewed as the threat. For a moment he tilted on almost ignoring the interference and instead taking the opportunity to make the first move, maybe if he lunged fast enough he could incapacitate Higgsbury, but then he remembered that there was a lot more shouting and torches wandering the woods than usual. This was still his property after all; no witch hunts unless he was the one to organize them.

And he'd certainly not permit them on a full moon. That should be reason enough for a human to stay at home for the night, not blundering around in _his_ forest.

The moment Higgsbury took a step, snout raised and sniffing at the air, looking all too curious with vampiric blood staining his teeth and claws, was the moment Maxwell snapped back into focus. Curling his wings, and glamors, back into order, tattered cloak pulled around him as he squinted his eyes to the sharp pains of his injuries, Maxwell lowered his voice, tone snide and hissing still.

"And where do you think you're going?"

There wasn't a glare anymore in that one eye; the shine of it reflected from the moon, and the werewolf tilted his head, hackles falling flat and ears twitching as Higgsbury gave him a look. Those claws curled, sniffing in his direction for a vague moment before, quite suddenly, Maxwell found himself dismissed.

The werewolf left him in the dust, silent as he disappeared into the trees shadows in leaps and bounds, off to investigate no doubt. Maxwell hissed a gurgled sound, fuming for a moment as he tugged his cloak tighter about himself, urging his wounds to seal up faster. All that and he may have scars if he didn't treat them soon!

Coupled with long past mistakes from his earlier vampiric days and he knew he was no pretty sight under his suits anymore. It was intensely frustrating, knowing Higgsbury of all people marked him! 

Still, he couldn't retreat back to his castle now; the werewolf ran a risk if left unchecked out here. And, if Higgsbury ended up dead, then their little deal and all the suffering on both their parts was for nothing!

Maxwell bared his fangs at nothing, fuming and hating how he still shook and trembled, before finally gathering himself. 

He can't let that idiot run off into danger, especially running the chance of someone having a silver bullet around. Full moons made people cautious, no matter how foolish they were in wandering under its light.

With that in mind, Maxwell stretched his wings, minding the faint wounds as they stitched back together before taking off from the ground. Not much wind tonight, and even with that very quick, interrupted meal earlier Maxwell knew he'd be especially tired tomorrow. Damn Higgsbury for interrupting his dinner.

But, perhaps he'll get another chance.

Even with full moon the canopy of the forest covered the ground with shadows, and Wilson minded where he leapt, making sure to not trip as he breathed in the scents of many men, angry and violent, trying to pinpoint the trail of that which they chased. Their bellowing words flew over his head, moon fogged and beast as he was, but he was not stupid and did not rush into the fray; Wilson caught sight of pitchforks, swords and spears, and there was the sharp cold tang of silver, metal.

His hackles rose, quieting his step as he prowled the lights, stalking as the men slowed, raised their torches as they finally backed their target into a corner.

There was hatred in the air tonight, violence the werewolf could just taste, and he peeked about a few bushes to catch sight of the end hunt.

Up above, hovering close to the tree tops to prevent being uncovered by the clear skies, the vampire silently landed on one of the many thick branches, these old oaks and pines enough cover to peer down at the spectacle.

It wasn't a big group, older rough handed men and the covering younger teens with their torches, looking excited and inexperienced, but it was what they had chased that caught both monsters attention. Hiding in the concave of a tree trunk, a dark hollow now awash with light and shouting, was a small, hissing, snapping thing.

Many legs, many eyes, but then one of the men took those steps closer, raised his torch and the spear in his hand, and the others grew quiet at his authority.

"Be careful boys; any animal backed in a corner will bite, hard." 

The others crept closer, circling the tree and the monster trying to hide against it, and Maxwell watched overhead, eyes narrowing, squinting as the flames started to give him a nasty headache. Lanterns were much easier on the eyes, and he vaguely wondered if he could actually ban torches for his own comfort.

Wilson crouched low, watching, and on the ground he couldn't quite see but he certainly could _smell_. 

The sweat and dirt of the men, the smoke of their torches and the bite of their metal, silver weapons, but underneath that was something else, thin and dark and slithering fragile, dust and the faint hint of, of milk somehow, something that was reminding him, bringing faint memory to mind-

"It bit already, hasn't it?"

One of the boys piped up, gangly and grinning crooked, holding his torch high, and the others murmured agreement.

"Aye, and got the taste of blood too, didn't ya?" The man took a step forward, shoved the torch towards the creature and listened to it hiss and squeak, trying to scuttle back with a faint cry.

The werewolf bristled, claws digging into the dirt, and suddenly he realized what, exactly that smell was reminding him of.

In the trees, the vampire leaned forward, stared hard at the mess of spiky limbs and many eyes and realized why, exactly, it seemed so small.

"Took a bite out of my wife, the monster did!" The man's voice rose into a shout, rage twisting his features. "Dead by the time I got home, and feasting on her when I opened the front door!"

There was a sudden warble from the creature, twitching as all those eyes blinked open, and there was a resounding gasp when it reached out, tiny claws trembling as words finally escaped it.

It was garbled, clicking and thick, but both vampire and werewolf twitched, listened, the mob of men silent for a mere moment.

"D-daddy…" 

And then there was an uproar, and the man swung his torch, almost hit the creature as it cowered back with a cry.

"See how it mimics a child!" The man roared, face red with rage, and the others tightened their grasps about their weapons. "This is how it catches victims, this is how it tricked my son and then my wife!"

"Kill it!"

"Squash it!"

"Cut its head off, raise it at the gate as a sign!"

"Is this what you want, crawling outside our homes!?" The man swung his torch around, turning to the mob and exciting them further. "We cannot stand to let this go any longer! No more going unguarded, no more rolling on our backs for the beasts and monsters of the woods to run rampant in our lives!" 

The men yelled, shouted in agreement, all the while the object of their hatred cowered and wheezed low cries, whimpering against the tree.

"We've already made the first step yesterday, calling forth the beast hunters, the slayer bigshots from far off lands!" The man turned around, and his voice turned hard, glaring down at the cowering thing before him. "And now, today, we eradicate our home of a flesh eating monstrosity."

This time, the shouts of agreement were serious. Pitchforks were readied, torches held high, and the man raised his spear, ready to land the first blow.

And then there was a howl, far too close for any of the mens comfort, or even for them to comprehend fast enough, and then a horrible snarling, a roar leaping out before blood splattered through the air.

Torches dropped, confused shouting, but before anyone could organize a harsh screech rang in the ears, caused many a man to drop their weapons and clap their hands to their ears, before a deglamorized monstrosity of fangs and spines and membranous wings shot down from the trees, tearing through those not already fallen.

For a few moments there was only screaming, lights going out one by one, and the creature hiding away against the tree whimpered, claws pressed to their head and many limbs drawn up tight, all their eyes squeezed shut as they trembled in a bristly curled up ball.

They could smell blood, meat, food, sensitive hairs and spines of their body picking up the scents as all flame light went out, put out by big paws and stamping claws, panicking men, and one by one the heartbeats they could hear were going out. They pressed a hand to their mouth, not able to stop their little cries, their sobs, and a few moments more it was dark, quiet.

But not silent.

They stifled their noises, sniffling as they finally, shakily opened their eyes, all of them. The dark didn't bother them at all, sight a bit wobbly from how scared they were, heart thumping hard in their chest, but they raised their head, shaking as they made themself look out to where the men had been.

They could see bodies, stinking now and blood soaking the grass and tree roots, and further out they could see movement.

A great winged thing, tall and thin, back turned towards them and hissing low, sickly squelching, sucking noises that made them shudder and draw their limbs close, hugging themself as they saw it handle a corpse about, twisting limbs in unnatural, bone breaking postures before sinking long fangs into soft flesh.

A few feet away a different thing, massive and hairy and with huge jaws, was ripping another body in half, claws pulling and tearing guts out only to swallow whole, the heat scent of blood filling the air, and they couldn't help the whimper, wobbling and clicking and their eyes grew all blurry, nausea rolling up in their belly.

They weren't hungry, not anymore, cause they've already eaten. They were full, and they wheezed at remembering, still tasting blood on their fangs, their mandibles and funny split mouth.

Their sobs were heard, and a glowing eye turned in their direction, furry ears raised up. The tall thing twitched, wings drawing in and spines wobbling as too long fangs suddenly angled towards them, dripping in blood, and with that they ducked away again.

Curling their arms about their head, curling up as they couldn't stop crying now, and they were _scared_, more scared than anything has ever made them scared in their entire _life_, and all they could do was curl up and hope the monsters haven't seen them yet.

Their mom would sing a song to them, when they were scared of the monsters in the closet and under their bed and right outside their window. She'd sit on the edge of their bed and pat their head and sing a lullaby in foreign words, and they'd curl up and hold her hand and fall asleep. They didn't remember the song very well, not yet even though they were trying, but curled up and whimpering they tried very, very hard right now, right this moment, to remember.

_"D-do not lie d-down near the edge of the, the bed…"_

Their mouth felt funny, has felt funny for a long time now, and they didn't know what the words meant, they didn't sound like words they or their mommy spoke, or even their daddy…

They pressed their claws to their face, feeling all their funny weird eyes, and tried to not breath deep, tried to not taste all the blood in the air, and tried to remember the next line.

_"The, the grey wolf-wolfie will c-come, and, and…"_

Even though they were doing what mommy did to help them not be so scared, it wasn't working! It was so hard to breathe, and they were so scared, and even though they were sobbing they weren't crying and nothing felt right, hasn't felt right since a long time ago, back when they had gotten lost in the forest and mommy had to go find them-

They made themselves take a big breath of air, even though the bloody smell was making their tummy twist and turn, and forced themselves to keep going, even though they kept stumbling over the words, even though they didn't know what they were saying, trying very, very hard to pretend it was mommy here and not big scary monsters.

_"G-grab you by your, your tiny side, tiny side, and dr-drag you, y-you-"_

There was other sound now, movement, footsteps and the shifting of grass and bushes and the trees branches, and they warbled out a chittery sound when they peeked open a few eyes, only to see glowing gazes and the stink of bloody teeth hovering over them.

They squeezed shut their eyes, whimpering, and made themselves say the next words, thick and funny sounding in their throat, clicking and hissing as they trembled even harder.

_"D-drag you to the for, forest, d, down, down-"_

With a hiccup they couldn't do it anymore. Mommy wasn't here and daddy was just a big dark shape on the ground stinking of blood and fleshy warm meat and there were big monsters that were going to grab them and gobble them up and-

They were _scared!_

Choking, wracked with their cries, they could only just barely hear anything anymore, too terrified, too much, and it was dark and gross and they didn't feel good at all, not at all!

Gasping in air, shaking and ill and overwhelmed, they flinched from the sudden hand on their head, a weak cry rising from their mandible split mouth. It was cold, and clawed and too light, and they squeezed their eyes shut tighter, curling up as the monsters hovered over them.

_"...down under a willow shrub."_ The voice was different, and spoke in the same words their mommy would say when she sung them to sleep, but not soft like her, not at all. Thin, and cold and smooth, and it made them shiver as it continued on, cold talons on their head and minding their many limbs. _"Don't come around, wolfie, don't come around…"_

On the voice continued, all needle thin and weird sounding, even singing the parts they didn't remember, and some that even their mommy wouldn't sing, long and winding and not slowing down, so very cold.

They felt faint, and far away, and their whimpers were quieter now, all curled up and shivering, but so very tired.

Faintly, they wondered when they'd get to go home, back to bed, like mommy had told them to. 

_"Hush, child, sleep…"_

For once it was silent. The forest had cooled down, and now only the stink of blood and leftover corpses were left.

The werewolf turned his head, flicked his ears as that one eye gave him a glowing, curious look.

Maxwell rolled his eyes, pulling his hand away and then rolling his wrist, numb pins and needles arcing up his arm. Humans were so much easier to lull to unconsciousness.

He could already guess the questions floating around in that genius of a moon fogged beast brain, but all Higgsbury did was huff a low sound, a woof almost as he shook himself and turned to look down at the beastie before them.

Black and bristly, clawed chitin limbs and too many glowing eyes, fangs and a twisted abominable face, small and obviously childlike.

Maxwell had no damn clue what it was, or why it was here.

"Am I correct in guessing you don't want to eat it?"

Higgsbury actually snarled at him, blood stained fangs drying yellow and ugly crimson, and the reminder had Maxwell turning away and wiping at his own face, tongue swiping over his lips and hissing out an exhale. The corpses surrounding them were undoubtedly chill by now, sluggish blood pooled about in the grass and the remains of Higgsbury's fury strewn in disgusting messes, and he idly prodded the disemboweled remains of one with his shoe.

"Well, I am finished for the night. If we hurry we should reach the castle before dawn."

He didn't get an audible answer to that, making him heave a sigh as he turned back around to a sight he was expecting.

Wilson had carefully moved the child, very gently minding his claws as he scooped them out from the trees hollow, laying them down in the grass a fair few feet away from the blood and gore. Sniffing over the darker, dusty scent, mixed with softer smells that pricked at the back of his mind, he raised his head to see the vampire glaring at him.

For a moment, Wilson held his gaze, unbreaking and stubborn, and not even the slightest of shine, the twinging spiral of shadow deterred him.

"...We are not taking that to the castle." The vampire hissed in low, and the magic in the air dissipated, not a single effect wearing on his targets mind. "We don't _need_ it."

The werewolf tilted his head, crouched comfortably next to the child's slumbering body and looking not at all fazed.

"No. I don't want it in the castle, and that is the end of that."

Wilson continued to stare him down, and after a moment the vampire hissed in another breathe, sputtering and shifting his weight, tattered cloak pulled in close about him. 

"I said no! I forbid it!" The vampire actually stomped his foot, a hissy fit as he turned around, then turned right back, absolutely glowering at the werewolf. "I will not allow children into _my_ castle!"

The werewolf tilted his head, ears still up, relaxed and calm, and even had the audacity to stretch open his mouth in a snapping yawn.

The vampire fumed, silently stomped a few steps away and then back, hissing low and gurgled, and now the stench of death was rising up and nauseating.

When he was in a good mood the smell was quite nice, but right now Maxwell had little mind of actually enjoying the unplanned blood bath.

He had other things to think about, such as getting a stubborn werewolf back to the safety of the castle, as well as himself before daylight started to become a problem.

He did not want the embarrassment of having to hike back hiding under his cloak. Leaving a smoke trail was just shameful.

When he finally laid his gaze upon the werewolf once more, Higgsbury had laid down, completely at ease, not at all stressed out about the coming new day.

Maxwell huffed, sneered and fumed and bared his fangs, but in the end he had to admit defeat.

A skinny vampire like him, without the help of his castles shadows, had no hope in moving a werewolf who did not wish to be moved.

This was not something he ever liked to accept, but it was the way it was.

Damn Higgsbury.

"Fine then. If you want the brat then keep it, but I am not carrying it home." Maxwell watched as the werewolf's tail started wagging, tongue lolling out as the beast finally rose up, panting and stinking of dried blood. The vampire put his hands on his hips, watched Higgsbury as he circled the child and tilted his head, trying to find the best way to carry without injuring, not wanting to claw up an innocent. "You are so damn stubborn. Why even waste your time?"

Higgsbury gave him a look, one he could easily interpret for once, nice and condescending even.

"Yes yes, you and your good intentions and morals. Did that ever cross your mind as you tore into these imbeciles?"

Maxwell kicked a severed leg, or mostly severed with how it dragged along half a pelvis, and he flicked out his tongue in distaste at the sight. Lovely trail of intestines there to make his point as well.

When he turned around at the lack of answer Maxwell found the werewolf staring at him with an unreadable expression. The child monstrosity was still there, passed out in the grass, and he suddenly realized something he'd much rather not acknowledge.

"...No."

Higgsbury took a few steps closer to him, ears flicking and one eye glowing in the fading full moon. 

"I will not." 

The werewolves expression was turning into something else now, and Maxwell sneered at the beast, not at all letting himself be lulled. 

"_I_ don't want the dreadful thing, so _I_ will not carry it." 

As undog like as he looked, and with just the one eye, Higgsbury was somehow pulling off the puppy eyes rather well.

Maxwell huffed, curled and uncurled his talons, pulled his cloak tighter about himself in all its ruined glory, before finally, finally, _finally_-

"...You owe me for this." Maxwell snapped a low hiss out as well, shoving past the wolfish monster and stomping over to the child. Easily scooping it up, all bristles and spiky limbs that caught in the holes of his ragged cloak, the vampire balanced the sleeping thing against his hip and let it lay its head against his shoulder, glaring all the while at the werewolf as he wrapped his cloak about it as best as he could. "Happy now, Higgsbury? The sun will be up before we even get to the castle, and then it'll take even longer to get there."

For once, the werewolf actually looked a hint sympathetic.

As well as amused, somehow, and Maxwell glowered as Higgsbury circled around him a moment, tail wagging and panting, looking all too interested in showing his satisfaction in the way that dogs do, before the vampire finally got fed up and waved him away, starting off in the direction of the castle.

He couldn't even fly like this; carrying around someone, even child sized, was taxing enough, and he did not want to be caught in open sky when the sun started to rise. 

The werewolf easily kept pace with him, sometimes a little too close for comfort, but at least this time it wasn't because they were at each other's throats. There would be a few scars from tonight, no doubt about that, but at least Maxwell had gotten his fill from the impromptu feast.

Higgsbury had gorged himself as well, both fortunate and unfortunate. In the morning Maxwell was sure he'd have to deal with the man and his usual woes of having eaten human flesh; Wilson was rather vocal about his issues on his beastal instincts, though his mood was always lighter on a full stomach.

It didn't at all matter to the vampire, not any longer anyhow. There were more important things to think about than that lust for blood and gore that caught him every few weeks.

As he walked, thoroughly irritated but at least appreciative that he wasn't on his own, the werewolf keeping him company, those bug limbs wiggled about a moment in his hold. Mandibles twitched, and the monster child hiccuped a soft twitter of noise but did not wake, instead nuzzling against his shoulder and the blood dried fur collar that the cloak still had attached. Maxwell grimaced, adjusting his grip with all too much ease in the action, and it soured in him but what the hell was he to do?

...Well, he supposed in the morning he'll bring down hell and high water on the werewolf. Once that moon was gone and light filled the sky Higgsbury was going to have a rather rude wakeup call.

The vampire frowned, and continued walking, werewolf bounding around behind him.

What a horrid night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Webber knows is a Russian lullaby called Bayu Bayushki Bayu, which is surprisingly difficult to find accurate translated lyrics for.


	2. Empty Castle Premise

A wave of thunder rolled above the castle, the sky dark and heavy with clouds, obscuring the star laden sky and the waning sliver of a moon, and Woodie huffed as he tromped through the mud, rain crashing in sheets and soaking into his leather cloak.

Adjusting the hood a moment, feet sinking into deep muck, the big man chanced a quick glance upwards, to the castle's towers and looming fortress walls.

It actually wasn't as big as he had thought it would be.

Lightning streaked across the sky, brightened up those grey stoned walls, and Woodie squinted as he caught sight of lighted windows, an amber color, not red or orange to signal fire.

Perhaps the locals were right.

Well, even if they were, electricity didn't matter to him, and neither did witchcraft. The poster in his pocket was dated at least a few months ago, but the nearby merchants and loose tongues in the inn informed him that nobody has taken the job yet, and that nobody dared.

Vampires, werewolves, ghosts and banshees and wraiths and all sorts of undead; he didn't believe in half of those, and the other half he did not fear. And really, with how foreboding this place looked, he couldn't blame the local village in creating such rumors.

This place was just home to some old man and his servants, that was all. No monsters here. 

Well, besides himself, but nobody's got to know about that. His business was his own.

And if there were a few skeletons in the closet of this place, they were not for him to uncover.

He was, after all, just applying to be the cook.

Pulling his mud soaked boots out of the mud with wet plops, the rain pouring all around him, Woodie started his way towards the walls, water culminating in massive pools and puddles all about the front yard, making it look like some sort of trodden swamp. The nearby forest didn't look any better, dark and wet, and another flash of lightning darted from above, to strike out far behind the castle itself.

The big man eyed the front gate, a massive door of wood and steel, spiked threateningly, and turned away from it with a huff. As if he'd attempt to knock on that. These sorts of castles always have side doors, mostly for the servants but also just escapes when needed.

He's lived in these places before, was born in one, and Woodie knew what he was looking for.

Now, there was the question on if anyone would hear his knocks and then let him in. There was always a big if when it came to that sort of thing.

It didn't take too long, even with the sheets of pouring rain and all the thunder and streaks of lightning, but Woodie did sigh in relief when he spotted the unassuming, plain, very ordinary looking wooden door, offset from the main entrance. If the thorny bushes about it, spiked and completely bare, had been healthier and clothed in leaves he may not have found it in the first place.

The front lawn was very much like a swamp, what with its spiky bushes and shorn trees. It wasn't native to this region, not at all, and Woodie squinted out through the pouring rain before shaking his head. Cursed or not, he didn't quite care.

He had a job he wanted to apply for, and a place out of this rain. Spring here was just a nightmare.

Approaching the door, eyeing its rather normal appearance compared to the stone and spikes of the rest of the castle, he took a deep breath of the cool, humid air. And then raised his hand, and knocked, three times, loud thumps that the rain attempted to muffle, rather unsuccessfully.

And then he waited.

The rain dripped from his hood, and he was lucky his cloak was still in good condition, wasn't full of holes just yet. Getting soaked never did him any good that was for sure.

For awhile he stood there, not really counting the time, withstanding the thundering rain. The door had a slight alcove, to perhaps help with rain and snow, but unfortunately the storm was falling in the wrong direction and soaked the wood, streaked down with drops and puddling in the dirt.

He'd not be very protected with it anyway; Woodie was a big man, and he knew he'd have to lean his head forward a bit to fit in the doorway. 

Just the way it was, unfortunately.

His thoughts were distracted by the sounds of locks, metal knobs and chains as the door was hastily unlocked, and his shoulders untensed at realizing he wouldn't have to spend the night outside in the storm. When the door squeaked ever so slightly open, however, he was a little unprepared.

Instead of a person of normal, if smaller than him, height, he actually had to look pretty far downwards to see a man squinting a scowl up at him.

Only part of his face, and there was a little bit of light from inside before the door was opened a bit more and the man swung out a lantern, raising it up to get a good look at Woodie.

“What do you want?” Gruffly spoken, stiff, and the man squinted up at him with his one good eye, the other a patchwork of scarring and dents. The rest of his face spoke hardship just as well, scruffy chin and cheeks, face hardened and wrinkles solid on his face. His hair was another story, and Woodie stared for only a split moment before huffing and getting his thoughts into order.

“Came here for a job.”

The man's eyebrows furrowed, confusion and uncertainty, mouth opening already to answer before Woodie started to rummage in the pockets of his coat, carefully taking out the poster he had torn down for his own use, keeping it as safe as he could from the rain. His bulk seemed to be a protective wall for the short man, the rain barely touching him, and when Woodie held out the paper he made an odd, unhappy face before snatching it away quickly.

Scrutinizing the paper, narrowing his eye, he finally glanced up at Woodie.

“I remember this. Aren't you a bit late?”

Woodie chuckled, shaking his head as the other man frowned even more at him. It was almost comical, with how short he was compared to Woodie, who naturally towered over everybody already.

“Was passing through town and found it yesterday evening, thought it would be a good idea.”

The man nodded slowly, looking back to the paper, mind obviously turning.

“I had thought they'd have torn these down ages ago.”

Nodding again, tapping his scruffy chin, the mans face finally softened a bit, not quite as scowl laden.

“Alright then, alright.” He backed up, taking the lanterns light with him and beckoned with one hand, leading through the door and away from the storms pursuit.

He waited as Woodie ducked down his head, stomped his feet to try and shake most of the mud off, and then hurriedly shut the door the moment he was past the threshold.

Woodie straightened up after a moment, realizing that the ceiling rose high above, rafters and stone, enough that he’d not have to bend or lean so much. It was a relief for him, looking about and not seeing much due to the general darkness, only the lanterns light brightening up the place, and it seemed rather desolate, a lone wooden table, empty of chairs, an unlit fireplace, and mostly empty bookshelves.

Must be a storage spot of some sort, though a very empty one.

“You will, of course, have to give your credentials to the…” The man stopped a moment, and when Woodie looked over to him he had a disgusted look on his face, brow furrowed and obviously displeased with his next words. “...the Lord of the castle, of course.”

Woodie grunted a confirmation, storing that bit of information away for later. So at least one servant out here had a dislike for the castles owner.

“Follow me, please. It's all too easy to get lost in here.”

The man waved a hand, beckoning him to follow, and Woodie minded his head as he ducked another doorframe, this time empty of a door. Shadows twisted and turned about the stone halls, and he was mildly surprised by the use of torches. 

Outside one can see the clear traces of amber, and the lantern in the short man's hands was bright, almost white; not something that just anybody would have on hand. The flames on the torches crackled, spit as he passed them by, and Woodie has had enough practice to not curl his lip or flinch back from them.

Fire has never been on his good side. He was more than relieved to find the chamber halls filled with glowing electricity, glass bulbs with their amber and white lights, leaving the torches behind as he walked.

The old castle echoed with his footsteps, filling in with the quicker, shorter legged pace of the fellow ahead of him, and as they walked the man took his lantern in hand and dimmed it down a bit, fiddled with metal knobs and twisting pieces about.

It looked almost too complicated, but Woodie always found himself preferring simpler methods. He may have all the time in the world, but wasting it on odd witchcraft machinations was the least of his wishes. He’s spent all too much time with that mess.

But the castle seemed to utilize both primitive and the electricity, wires hanging from the rafters criss crossed about almost haphazardly, and a few of the dark halls they passed by were either lit with torches sparking embers or unlit entirely. Woodie decided to not think on it too much.

He came here for a job, one he can do, and that was all. 

"...My name is Wilson, by the way." The short man had hesitated a moment in his walking, and turned around to suddenly extend his hand out, this time the scowl having softened away from his face. "Wilson P. Higgsbury. I do apologize for being rather rude earlier; it is rather late."

"No worries, none at all, eh." Woodie waved away the apology and shook the man's hand, a firm, quick motion that both of them did not stretch for longer than necessary. "I'm Woodie. The trek here from the nearest village was quite a long one, took all day."

"Well, yes. We do like our privacy here." Wilson was nodding, and his voice was much more companionable than before, a much more neutral face, before he turned around, waving to Woodie as he started walking again. "Hopefully the hike wasn't for naught; no one has even applied for the position, and it is sorely needed."

Continuing on in the empty, quiet castle corridors, eventually the maze of rooms, halls, and t crossing paths led into a much larger chamber. Ducking under the doorway into the well lit place, the amber glow lining the sides and a large ornate chandelier hanging in the middle of the ceiling far upwards, Woodie blew out a whistle as he eyed the size.

Pillars of stone, huge stairs that split to the right and left out to balconies, and down the middle a carpet leading to massive double doors. The usual castle esque architect. 

Though a bit older looking, and barren. No pictures hung up, no tables with decorative pottery, the carpet dull and dusty, and on the whole the place looked rather unused.

Wilson set the unlit lantern on one of the empty tables, rubbing his face for a moment before straightening up to address him, looking rather tired out now.

“It's rather late, but it shouldn’t take long to find him-”

“Higgsbury!”

The shout was more of a hiss, not loud but more commanding attention, but it was enough to cause Wilson to jump. Woodie blinked, turned to where the voice had originated from, and there up on the stairs was another man.

Even from here he was tall, cloaked in black and with a narrow, sunken face, and he glared down at the short man, voice snarled in a way that sounded more irritated than anything else.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, wandering around at midnight-” The man's eyes finally caught sight of Woodie, freezing for half a moment before he straightened up, clearing his throat and hurriedly adjusting himself as if he hadn’t been about to blow a fuse. “Ah, and who is this? We don’t get visitors this late.”

There was a glare aimed at Wilson, which seemed to be brushed off as the short man stepped forward, a half hearted attempt at introductions.

“He came knocking at one of the side entrances, wanted to know if that cook position was still open.”

“At midnight?” The tall man gave a brief disbelieving look to Wilson, before it changed into something a little more neutral as he leveled Woodie with a stare. “Night is not the usual time to apply for a job.”

He started down the stairs, stiff backed and held aloft, and if Woodie was wondering if this was who he thought it was he didn’t have to wonder any longer. 

Definitely the Lord of the castle, though he seemed a bit...frailer than he expected. And this place, it was giving off the air of disrepair and emptiness, something he wasn't expecting either.

It was unsurprising that Woodie still towered over everyone, and there was a brief flash of irritation on the man's face as he looked up, but Woodie knew enough about castle etiquette to give a shallow half bow, dipping low and ignoring the creaking, popping of his own bones. With the faint buzzing of electricity overhead the castle was certainly not a silent place.

His show of propriety seemed to please the man, though Wilson, having been brushed away and now off to the side, looked rather disgusted. 

"I am the Lord Maxwell Carter, and while I suppose it is quite late I will hear you out." Maxwell himself seemed quite pleased, a thin smirk on his pale face and not looking at all affected by how late it truly was, though a roll of muffled thunder overhead did punctuate his words rather effectively. "You came here to be a chef, do I understand that correctly?"

Behind him, Woodie watched as Wilson waved to get his attention and then proceeded to silently mouth a word at him, pointing a thumb to the tall man.

Ah, it was 'baron'. Woodie was not the most knowledgeable about these nobility sorts of things, but he supposed it was good to know at the very least.

"Aye, saw the paper at the closest village and thought it looked promising." It was sort of unnerving, being watched as sharply as he was, and while Maxwell was smiling it did not quite have the air of kindness about it. If Woodie didn't know better he'd suspect it was more like the look one would give an animal at the market, pleased at what was seen and eyeing what could be improved. "I've been on and off the road for a good bit, but I have experience with cooking and kitchen care, if that's what ya want to hear."

"Am I right in guessing you have no references then?" Maxwell eyed him critically, tilted his head before suddenly moving, a slow paced circle about Woodie. "No ties either, traveling so far and for so long? No one to know your name?"

The other man made a noise, clearing his throat to get both of their attention. 

"His name is Woodie." The lack of anything else did make Maxwell look a hint displeased, but the interruption had stopped the rather...odd behavior.

Woodie wasn't a connoisseur on social etiquette or even socializing in general, but he was starting to get the distinct feeling that something was a bit off about these two.

Honestly, it wasn't much of a bother. If this place was as truly empty as it looked, he was perfectly fine just doing his job in the kitchens and nothing else. Save up enough for a few months and then, maybe, he'd head out again.

"Right, well, Woodie." 

Maxwell looked him up and down, in thought for a moment, before that thin smirk turned up at him again, the slightest hint of barred teeth, as if the man was clenching his jaw tight. He extended a hand, almost putting a bit too much flare in the simple act, and for a moment, when Woodie raised his gaze to look the man in the eye, it seemed as if something else was in the air, a fog of some sort rolling in and making him blink slow, exhausted suddenly.

"I believe you will do fine living here, perfectly fine. Obviously there are a few guidelines to go over, a few rules, but nothing you certainly can't handle, right pal?" 

Woodie actually wavered a moment, feeling a bit light headed, and the dark that hid in the castles nooks and crannies seemed to slither out, crawling and coiling like smoke about the cobblestones. Another roll of thunder, and the vaguest of flashed lightning from the high raised windows, all muffled, all as if far away, and vaguely Woodie knew that, being such a big man, losing his balance was a very, very bad idea.

Still, for a mere moment, Maxwell grinned all too many sharpened teeth at him, looming and stretched in dark shadow, hand raised in a clawed offering, illuminated by another far away lightning strike.

And then he was suddenly snapped out of it, fog receding back too fast to even notice, and there was Wilson at his side, a firm grip on his arm and glare turned to the other man.

"I believe that is all we need of you, Maxwell."

Snappish, and surprisingly angry sounding, and Woodie watched in dawning bafflement as the tall man's face curled into a frown, dipping well to a sneer before, somehow, turning into what almost looked to be a pout.

"What, only an oral contract?" His eyes flashed to Woodie, and quite suddenly he realized that something was not quite _right_ with that look. Maxwell curled his offered hand closed, arm dropping, but the grin had sneaked right back up again, not seeming too fazed with the fact that Wilson was now in the situation. "Not even a good natured handshake? Don't you trust me pal, even a little?"

"Not right now I don't."

Woodie suddenly found himself being pushed against, too surprised to resist as Wilson made him turn about, start walking away with slightly unsteady, heavy steps.

"Ah, well. I suppose we shall finish this at a later time."

It wasn't a question, but the short man snapped back an answer anyway, moving to snatch up the lantern once more.

"I'll finalize any of your leftover business matters." He hurried along to an open hall, waiting for Woodie to follow after him with slow, slightly unsteady steps. "Like my job entitles."

For his part Woodie had little idea what had happened, only that now he was suddenly very, very tired out. The hike here must have finally gotten to him, he decided, and before he followed Wilson out of the chamber he turned around, clearing his throat.

"So, I'm hired, eh?"

"Yes yes." Maxwell waved his hand, looking bored now, and swung around to start up the stairs, calling behind his back. "Higgsbury will show you to the kitchens and tell you your new duties. You will start tomorrow, so…"

For half a second the Lord of the castle looked over to him, cold, odd looking gaze sweeping up and down, as if taking him in once more, considering.

And then a sly grin split the mans face, surprising Woodie for a second at the rather disquieting image, a low roll of unease in his gut.

"I suggest getting a good night's sleep. And, just to be polite, I highly recommend that you do not get caught without a light unawares in these halls." The grin turned upwards, wicked and almost excited even, and Woodie blinked at the sudden foggy wave that was starting to creep up on him again. "There are more living here than Higgsbury and I, and they do not take kindly to...surprise visitors."

With a sweep of his all too extravagant cloak Maxwell departed, the fog snapping him out into focus and fatigue once more, and Woodie shook his head, frowning before he, too, turned away.

Might be a little over his head here, but it was still storming outside, another muffled roll of thunder overhead, and Woodie did prefer shelter over camping out with little supplies. No matter his waterproofed clothing the rain was such a pain to handle, and his joints ached for days if he got caught in a rainfall for too long.

Thankfully he wasn't sodden from the trek; the castle, for all its cold stone and misty dark chambers, was surprisingly well kept. Perhaps all these wires and electric doodads did more than shine light overhead.

Ducking his head as he entered the hall, Woodie looked up to see Wilson waiting nearby, leaning slightly against a dusty, empty desk. The short man was tapping his hands to the wood, not looking to him as he mouthed words silently to himself, drew squiggles in the dust, before Woodie politely cleared his throat.

A crack of thunder overhead, louder and stronger than the precious rolls, and Wilson jolted up straight as he realized he had been caught unawares. 

"Ah, you're ready to see the kitchen now?" 

The man dusted himself off, twisted a few knobs and pieces of the lantern he still held tight to, a new beam of white light to mix with the amber that flooded the hall itself. He was already moving before Woodie could answer, but he dd glance back, eyebrow raised and looking remarkably more light hearted without a near constant scowl on his face.

"Eh, yep. There a room nearby I can sleep in or something-"

"There's an attached living space, with a bathing room on the side. Small, but it should be manageable for you."

At this Wilson did eye him, look all the way up with how almost laughable their height differences were, but the short man just nodded his head and looked confident in what he had said.

As he raised up the lantern, led them down the well lit hall into another that was less well lighted, Woodie took a second to lean over and catch a quick glimpse at what the man had been writing in the dust of the table.

Numbers, misplaced letters, a few bits of equation; gibberish to Woodie, though he could guess that it did have merit to it. Not really any of his business, really, so with that he trudged on after the short man.

While he was undoubtedly tired out by now, Woodie did remember a bit of the "advice" given to him earlier. He stuck close to the light of the lantern as they walked, and only briefly glanced down other halls, chambers and their open doors all leading into darkness.

The man had probably just meant there were other help, of course, people who liked their privacy, but yet a shiver ran up his spine every time he was a hint slower in his step, everytime Wilson abruptly turned a corner and washed the light away in pure dark.

If he didn't know any better, Woodie would almost consider that perhaps they were being watched, stalked as the dark followed in their footsteps.

But all he did was roll his shoulders, blame his fatigue, and follow along a bit closer to his guide. 

The kitchen was not too far out, a few turned corridors and passing an odd staircase going down before Wilson fiddled with a surprisingly large door and swung it open to-

More darkness, and a fair bit of dust.

Woodie ducked his head as the short man coughed, waved the air around as he searched the walls, before finally coming up in a lever on the opposing wall. It moved with a rusty squeal, and there was a faint click, but the lights flickered overhead for a mere moment before dimming down.

Enough to see, but the amber lighting was not at all suited for a kitchen.

Looking over the place, acknowledging that it was fairly big, not just for one person, Woodie noted the two other doors opposite and another next to a covered window, thick dusty curtains and heavy wood tables, stoves and a deep sink even farther back. 

All in all, it was promising.

"That was the long way here." Wilson had set the lantern on one of the dusty tables, not willing to turn down the brighter lighting just yet. He pointed to the opposing doors, a half gesture as he continued talking. "That one goes directing to the dining chamber, and the other is the private room."

He wandered over to the window, peaked out into the night and the sound of heavy rainfall, deep rumbles overhead. 

"Used to have a barn and stable out here, but they've fallen apart by now."

Woodie nodded, rubbed a hand to his face as he walked about the room. He wanted to examine everything a little more closely, but hell if he wasn't tired out enough.

There was a key in the private areas door, which he did slip out to have a look at, old and rusted with a little string attached, no other defining marks, before he slowly pushed it open. The hinges creaked, but the inside was only illuminated by a window, a far flash of lightening brightening it up a moment.

"I don't think there are any lights set up in there." 

Woodie blinked down at the short man, a bit surprised with how silent he had moved, but Wilson had snatched up the lantern and walked in, swung the light about before finding a table to set it on. He searched around a moment as Woodie let himself in, the sound of the rain more prominent here than in the middle of the castle itself. It only took a moment of distraction before Woodie turned to see that the fireplace was now lit, Wilson crouched down and encouraging it up.

The short man dusted himself off as he stood, looking around for a brief moment before giving Woodie a satisfied nod. 

"This should work for now, hopefully. If you do end up needing something just write up a list and I'll try to get it all to you."

"Alright, thanks bud." Woodie was more interested in actually looking over the space, small and only one room, a door to what was probably the bathroom. Cozy, and a little small for him maybe, but certainly livable.

And better than what he's been bunking in these last few weeks. 

"I'd leave the lantern for you, but as you've seen…" Woodie turned around to watch Wilson adopt a sheepish look, scratching the back of his neck as he held the lantern close. "The way back is a bit dark at times."

"Sort of a maze, eh?"

"Yes! Exactly like a maze." The mans face suddenly looked deep in thought. "Perhaps I should start making signs, or a map…"

For a moment there was an awkward silence, or at least awkward on Woodies side, but then Wilson shook his head, waved his hand apologetically as he backed out of the room. Woodie followed him through, getting his slower thoughts together to speak up.

"Thanks again for, uh, hiring me on and all." The doorway was a bit small for him, sticking his head out to watch Wilson stop his hand on the lever for the lights, and Woodie pursed his lips, thinking. "Sorry about comin' in past midnight, and all sudden like that."

"No worries, no worries!" The short man's face actually tilted up, a smile for the first time, though he looked ungodly tired at the moment. "We haven't had a proper cook in a very, very long time, as you can see from the state of the kitchen, so it's great that someone actually showed up. I'll come by in the morning and pick up any list you make of what you need, so, uh, goodnight."

" 'night, and thanks again."

The switch made another click, faint electricity dying as the lights dimmed, flashed out, and only the lanterns glow and the firelight from behind Woodie was left.

Just before he could close the door fully, finalize the day and his new job, Wilson's voice piped up suddenly.

"Oh, and Woodie?" 

Woodie nudged the door open a bit again, looked over to the short man who was already almost out into the hall, getting a more serious look this time.

"If you need anything before sunrise, try to sit tight. I'm usually near the top floors, and Maxwell does not come down to the ground floor often."

"...There no one else around?" Woodie wasn't entirely sure of the answer he'd be given, but Wilson shook his head, and now that scowl had slid back, a natural look on the man's face.

"No, no, only...only us."

There had been a hint of hesitation, but then the man's attitude switched up once again, back to being companionable.

"Well, it was nice to meet you Woodie. Goodnight."

"...'night, Wilson."

With that Woodie shut the door, slowly turning about to look once more over his new, small living space. The fire cracked merrily, it was warm and the sound of the rainfall was near soothing, and Woodie glanced over to where he could see the bed, well made and dusty.

Carefully, and with a fair bit of the soreness of hiking all day, he shrugged off his oversized coat and swung it to hang over a nearby chair, not tall enough to keep it up fully from the dusty floor. Woodie reached up, ignored the stitching and bolts of his skin that had been hidden underneath, and gently cradled the locket he had about his neck.

He opened it, to look upon fondly for a brief moment, before heaving a sigh and closing it once more, holding it firmly in his hand.

"It's not the best place I've been, but it's better than nothin', Lucy." Woodie shook his head, let the locket fall back to being against his chest once more, where it was meant to be. 

If he was to be honest, he knew she'd hate this place.

Better than being outside in the storm, he decided.

Then he turned and made sure to lock the door, slipping the key into his pocket afterwards.

Just incase, is all.


End file.
